


Grieving, homicidal, and blind.

by Latenightsgunfights



Category: Saints Row
Genre: ADHD Johnny, Angst, But she tries to help, Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Idk how to tag but it's clear Max doesn't really understand ADHD, Kinda, Shogo is a bitch that is all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28649583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latenightsgunfights/pseuds/Latenightsgunfights
Summary: Johnny comes home from the hospital after Aisha's death.
Relationships: Female Boss (Saints Row) & Johnny Gat
Kudos: 3





	Grieving, homicidal, and blind.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second fix about grief I promise this series will have fluff eventually :D

Trauma fucking sucked. 

Max sat on the cream couch, feet up on the coffee table, trying to feign disinterest yet finding it increasingly difficult. She lit her second cig in the last fifteen minutes, reminding herself of Troy and trying not to care. 

Johnny had this kind of restless, wide eyed anxiety about him. He'd been out there way too long, moving back and forth in the kitchen, fingers _tap tap tapping_ on the marble counter as he tried to focus and failed, scrubbing the spot he tapped with a wet cloth again and again and again. The movement of cutlery from one spot to another, lost and found and then moved again, caused a shrill metallic sound to pierce the silence of the dead home. 

Gat looked thinner, these days, had since he'd left the hospital after _that night_ . They hadn't talked about it because it wasn't their style. _Though if that muthafucka moves that fork one more time I'm fucking considering it._ A dangerous game. She knew it would mess him up; taking him back to Aisha's house. But Max's own home was barely livable, and the other Saints Cribs were entirely out of the question. She doubted Johnny wanted to grieve while watching a lackey snort coke off of a strippers ass cheeks. 

"Hey Johnny, man, come over here for a second," she tried to play it cool, hoping she chose the right tactic to soothe his restless fidgeting and inability to look her in the eye. Walking in slowly, Gat sat down on a plush seat opposite her, that far off stare ever present and not moving."Where are your glasses, man?" He shrugged. _Great._

For all her great, desperate attempts not to be selfish in her life, she couldn't help how she was. Her natural form. How she struggled to feel anything outside of anger and pain. She'd never seen Johnny like this, and she certainly didn't grieve like he did. Max tried to think of when she'd lost Carlos or Lin, of what she'd wanted people to say or do for her, and all she could remember was a burning, violent rage and desire to be left _the fuck_ alone. 

Simply leaving wasn't an option here. Not when the person you're planning to leave is a hazard to human life. 

"Just breathe, yeah? We'll figure something out." His knee started bouncing and he slowly started this _scratch-tap-scratch_ rhythm with his nails on his thigh. _OK, breathing doesn't work._

Something told Max she was going to have to do it. 

That dreaded _'t'_ word. 

Max's eyes met something shiny on the next rooms floor, and she got up to grab it, deciding how exactly a _fuck up_ like her was going to talk about feelings. The metal of Johnny's shades felt cold in her hand. She picked them up carefully, walking back to his seat ever so slowly. His leg was still bouncing. Max wondered if the uncontrollable habit hurt his bad knee. 

"Here ya go, dude," she placed them on his lap, but he made no move to get them. _Right: he's grieving, homicidal and blind. Love that._

She sat down on the arm of his chair and gently cleaned the lenses with the soft fabric of her purple sweater. Turning his head to her she placed them on his face, making a point of not looking in his eyes. 

"I wanna kill that fucking kid so bad." It was the first time he'd spoken in a while. 

"Who?" 

"Shogo."

"Yeah."

Max placed her hand on his back before she thought better of it, trying not to freeze when his muscles tensed and his leg stopped bouncing. She rubbed his back once and he screamed in grief and loss, before his whole demeanour changed at rapid pace, and he lurched forward. 

Johnny Gat put his fist through the television screen, shattered glass exploding outwards with the force. 

Max's sigh had no bite, and she rose to grab the broom. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not ADHD diagnosed but I've been researching for a few weeks (since I'm writing a larger Saints Row piece) on adults with ADHD, how it affects life and relationships etc, this fic is short but i hope my future pieces benefit from the practice. If any of you have any advice or resources (or if any ADHD people want to scream about my shitty portrayal on anon) please do so @latenightsgunfights on Tumblr. I'd appreciate it :)


End file.
